Bruises
by Thlayli the Lobster
Summary: Stream of consciousness hallucination/Wired-induced-freak-thing-you-know-the-drill. This is hardly Action/Adventure, but I like the way it looks on the bottom of the summary. It's so inviting. By the way, please be nice to me. This is my first thingie. Gi


I can explain!  
I'm into anime and I'm into symbolism. If this fic makes you go, "Schwhaaaaat? What the smeg does this have to do with Serial Experiments: Lain?", then just know this: This fic is intended to be one of them thought-stream thingies. The sparrow, the coat, the old woman, the railroad, the billboard, and the crazed mumbling all MEAN stuff. And they can mean whatever the frackle you want them to mean. That's why this fic is here. Everything said and done, to me, sums up Lain's emotions and stuff as she goes through this period of being the borderline between the real world and the Wired world. The railroad is the same one Lain sees in one of her first "hallucinations" where the screaming girl gets hit by the train. Anyway, I don't own Lain. I do own the words here. The sparrow, billboard etc. are mine mine mine gimme gimme. So's the old woman. And the blanket. You know, all the stuff. The railroad is not mine either, I guess, but whatever. You know the drill.  
  
****  
I sat down beside a railroad.  
I felt sick.  
I felt like I had to go to the bathroom and vomit all at once.  
I felt like curling up into a little ball and throwing up all over the kitchen floor.  
I hated nothing, but I still felt the bruising hatred in my heart.  
Heart.  
Did I really have a heart?  
Where?  
I hugged my knees as close as I could to my chest without putting any unnecessary pressure on my stomach.  
"Does Lain have a tummy-ache?" the sparrow crooned softly into my ear.  
I swatted at it.  
It flew away, squawking to no one in particular.  
I saw an old woman sitting on a bench, her fingers worn-out and numb from stroking her wool coat.  
I watched her touch it.  
A ritual, I guess.  
Something she does for comfort.  
Her life.  
I wish I had a wool coat.  
"DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO," boomed a loud, pompous voice.  
I looked up to see a billboard standing proudly on the side of the road.   
It knows that there isnÕt a child in the world who wouldnÕt stop to read what it has to say.   
The overbearing sign leered down at me as I wrote my name in the dirt.  
"HYPOCRITE," it screeched. "DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO!"  
I spat at it and looked away.   
"EveryoneÕs a hypocrite," I muttered.  
Time went by.  
The sparrow sped towards the old woman, and started tearing at her coat.   
I stood up to stop him, but the billboard leapt in front of me.   
"DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO," it burst, "ANYTHING TO SAVE YOUR SPARROW. YOUR ONLY LOVE AND FRIEND."   
The sparrow flew to my shoulder, its beak drenched in the old womanÕs blood.   
Had it killed her?  
"My friend," it sighed. "I love you, Lain."  
Had it killed her?  
"Lain?"  
I permitted my eyes to drift over to the old womanÕs bench.   
Her coat was ripped to pieces.   
I stumbled over the wool and fingered it as roughly as I could.  
I begged my fingers to wear away.   
I begged them to become smooth and dull.   
"What is Lain doing?" inquired my friend the sparrow.   
"When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah . . . hurrah . . ." I sang quietly.  
"What is Lain doing?"  
The billboardÕs neon lights blinked and buzzed and eventually faded into silence.  
It wondered.  
"What is Lain doing?" hissed the sparrow, pecking at my breast.   
"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN. ALL GOOD CHILDREN GO TO HEAVEN," offered the billboard.  
"Lain?" my sweetheart asked again, beak dripping the old woman's blood into my ear.  
Her blood.  
My blood.  
Had he really killed her?  
Me?  
I stood up and ran further down the train tracks.  
"Lain is wearing down her fingertips!" I screamed, "Lain is wearing down her fingertips! Lain is giving it up for you!"  
I picked up a large chunk of wool and hurled it at the sparrow.  
He disappeared.   
Was he frightened?  
My only friend is afraid of me?  
Oh, everyone's a hypocrite.  
"Including me." I added quickly, saving the sign some work.  
"DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO," the billboard sulked.  
I lay down on the old woman's bench, covering myself with the tiny tufts of wool.   
Covered myself with love.  
Covered myself with her blood.   
"Go," I whispered softly.  
My billboard sadly turned away.   
"WHY DID YOU HURT THE SPARROW?"  
"Because I need love that is true. Now, go."  
"LAIN IS WEARING DOWN HER FINGERTIPS," it whispered.   
"Go. Now. Go."  
"LAIN IS WEARING DOWN HER FINGERTIPS."  
I closed my eyes and started breathing out the first familiar words that could stumble their way across my mind.  
"When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah, hurrah."   
I could still hear the sign's muttering as its image slowly faded out into the mist coating the railway.  
Looking for another soul to preach to.  
"EVERYONE'S A HYPOCRITE," it sighed. "EVERYTHING'S A LIE."  
  
******  
  
Okay, I did mention that this is my first fic, right? And that I'm sort of sensitive, right? And that if you wrote a groady first fic then I'd give you constructive criticism WITHOUT using the words 'suck' and 'give it up', right? :-P Don't get me wrong, by all means, give me a bad review, I need to learn what I'm doing wrong, but just make it . . . how should I say this . . . polite. :-P :-D ;-) 


End file.
